


A Riddle In Nine Syllables

by Chash



Series: Neeeeeeeeeerds [10]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4275264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yeah, you would," Raven says, when Clarke tells her.</p><p>"Would what?"</p><p>"Reproduce."</p><p>"Not all of us of prefer robots to children," says Clarke.</p><p>"Hey, if you want to be wrong, that's your thing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Riddle In Nine Syllables

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magentaquills (synthanita)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=magentaquills+%28synthanita%29).



> I wanted to express my appreciation for everyone who was kind enough to vote for my fics in the Bellarke Fanfic Awards, and also had a prompt for this kicking around anyway, so it seemed like as good a time as any. Thanks, friends! Title from Sylvia Plath.

The first thing that happens is that Bellamy gets an actual, grown-up, tenure-track _job_ in the Classics department at BU, which means that he's getting a pretty good income and feels like a real person, instead of just being a perpetual student. Clarke's had a pretty good job doing art therapy with foster kids for the last few years, and with Bellamy employed too, it's suddenly like they're _adults_.

The revelation is a terrifying one, so Clarke calls up Raven, and they go over to her and Wick's house and get drunk and watch some of their robots fight each other.

"So, you know," Bellamy says, pressing a sloppy kiss to her temple. "We're at least still really immature."

"And I can still crush a beer can on my forehead," Clarke says.

"Yeah, that's important."

"Your students are going to think I'm so cool."

He snorts. "I'm never letting you talk to them. It'll be like that fucking mythology club all over again, they'll just like you better than me."

"They will," she agrees. "It's because I'm better than you."

"That must be it."

The second thing that happens is that Octavia gets engaged, to _her_ high school boyfriend, which is, for reasons completely beyond Clarke, somehow worse than if she was engaged to someone else.

"What's wrong with Lincoln?" she asks, with a weird sense of deja vu. They have had this conversation before, but Octavia was _fourteen_.

"Nothing. It's just weird. They haven't seen each other since we graduated from high school, and then they happen to be in the same city, and get coffee, and fall in love?"

"Yeah, you're summarizing what happened. What, you think he's conning her?"

"No."

"It is possible to be happily married to someone you dated in high school," she points out. "Unless you became dissatisfied with our marriage at some point and are afraid to tell me."

Bellamy grins, like she knew he would. They've only been married for a few months, and every time she calls herself his wife or brings it up, he grins, like it's still the best thing ever. Which, she had to admit, it pretty much is. "Yeah, I'm miserable," he says, tugging her into his lap. He rests his forehead on her shoulder. "I don't know. It's weird, right? What are the odds?"

"I don't know. It is a little weird," she admits. "But it's cool too, you know? Kind of romantic."

"You don't get to think it's romantic. You married your high-school boyfriend. Your best friend married _her_ high-school boyfriend. This is normal for you. It should be unromantic because they broke up for like ten years."

"I think it's romantic that they were apart for a while, and then they met again and found out they still loved each other," says Clarke. "And if you give me shit for that, I'm going to tell your sister you don't approve of her marriage."

"You're the fucking worst, Princess," Bellamy says, and pushes her back onto the couch to make out.

The third thing that happens is that Clarke's father has a heart attack. He survives, but it makes Clarke realize that her parents are getting _older_. Her father is fifty-nine, and his he's had a heart attack, and he's not going to be around forever.

"Have you thought about kids?" she asks Bellamy.

He's grading papers, not paying much attention. "Which kids?"

She has to smile. "The kids we're eventually going to have."

His grading pen falls out of his mouth, and he stares at her, eyes wide and not nearly as panicked as she expected. It's mostly surprise, not dread. That's a good sign.

"Oh," he says. "Those kids. Yeah, I've thought about those kids."

He has, too. They've talked about how many they want--two (her), three (him), and they've settled on "at least two, and we'll see how we do with them" for the time being--and names and a sort of vague action plan. Which was mostly, once Bellamy was done with school and they had a house and felt like it.

"I think we should start working on the first one," she says.

His jaw works, but he still doesn't look upset. "Why now?"

"We're real adults, we make good money, we're growing up, my parents are getting older, I like kids, I think we could afford a house, we're--"

He's laughing again, soft. "Okay, I would have accepted any of those. I was curious, I don't need convincing." He sets his papers aside and crosses the room to her desk, leaning down to kiss her. "Yeah, I'm in. I think we should have kids."

*

"Yeah, you would," Raven says, when Clarke tells her.

"Would what?"

"Reproduce."

"Not all of us of prefer robots to children," says Clarke.

"Hey, if you want to be wrong, that's your thing," says Raven.

"We also have the dog," says Wick. He's tinkering with something, because he's _always_ tinkering with something. "Who needs kids when you have robots and a dog?"

"Bellamy and I don't have robots or dogs," she points out.

"There's your problem," says Raven. "We could give you some robots."

"I think Bellamy's still generally worried about Skynet. When you guys start the robot apocalypse, he's definitely going to say I told you so." She shrugs. "Also, we _like_ kids."

"Suit yourself," says Raven. "Some people have no taste."

*

It doesn't even take long, which is--Clarke wouldn't have wanted there to be problems, but it's still a little terrifying, to actually _be pregnant_ only a few months after deciding she wanted to be pregnant.

"Holy shit," says Bellamy, sinking down onto the couch next to her. "Are you sure? How sure is sure?"

"I took three pregnancy tests, and I set up a doctor's appointment to verify," says Clarke. "So, you know. As sure as we can be, until the doctor."

"Holy shit," he says, and then grins and kisses her. "We're having a fucking baby."

"You're going to need to work on your language in the next nine months," says Clarke, laughing. "No swearing in front of the baby."

He tugs her onto his lap, putting one large hand over her stomach. "Baby," he says, somewhat awed, and Clarke leans back into him.

"Baby," she agrees.

*

She waits until she's gone to the doctor twice before she tells her parents. Her father is easy--he's delighted, wholly, uncomplicatedly. Her mother, she puts off for two days, until Bellamy says, gentle, "You know she'll be happy, right, Clarke? And you'll feel better if you call her."

"I know," she says. "I wish I could still drink. Drinking made interacting with my mother so much better."

Bellamy snorts. "I love you. Call your mom."

She doesn't ever really call Abby unless something's going on, so after the basic pleasantries, she just says, "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, everything's fine." She leans back against Bellamy, smiling when his arm tightens around her. He's mostly grading, but he doesn't need to be paying complete attention to her to serve as moral support. "I actually have good news. I'm, um. I'm pregnant."

"Oh," says her mother, soft, surprised, but not sharp at all.

"I'm about four months along."

"Was this--you said it was good news, so I assume it was--I didn't know the two of you had been thinking about this," she finally says, and Clarke has to smile. Of course her mother can't just ask if this was a planned pregnancy.

"We, um. We only just started trying. It happened pretty quickly. Which is cool, I didn't have time to start stressing out about it."

Bellamy snorts and kisses her hair, and she swats at him. She did some amount of ovulation math, it's true, but that's not stressing. That's just sensible.

"When are you due?"

"Late November, early December."

"And everything looks good so far?"

"Yeah, I've had a couple checkups. So far so good, according to the doctor."

"That's good."

"Yeah. We have the first sonogram in a couple weeks. I'll send you the pictures when we get them."

"I'd like that." There's a pause. "I assume Bellamy's excited." She sounds fond, a little amused even, and it makes Clarke feel so much better. She knows her mom likes Bellamy--loves him, even--but every reminder of it is still a thrill. After so many years of feeling at odds with her mother, it's still surreal that she's got a good job, and a husband, and a baby on the way, and her mother approves of _all of it_ , doesn't think any of her decisions have screwed up her life beyond saving. 

"He's thrilled," says Clarke, smiling up at him. "He loves kids. He's here if you want to say hi, he could probably use a break from grading."

"Sure," says Abby, and Clarke hands over the phone and puts her head in his lap, smiling when he starts carding it through her hair, automatic. Pregnancy isn't awful, so far, but it's tiring, and it's _constant_ , this awareness that there's a baby in her. The bump is starting to get obvious, and people in the store and on the T have started to comment on it. And now her mother knows. It's a little surreal.

But Bellamy's hand in her hair, firm and warm and familiar--that helps a lot.

*

The hormones don't get really bad for a few more months, but then suddenly there she is, seven months pregnant, crying on the bedroom floor over a _t-shirt_. Which is just--not where she ever wanted to be with her life. This was not the plan.

Bellamy finds her like that when she doesn't come down for breakfast, and stands in the doorway in shocked horror for a minute before rushing over to kneel next to her. "Jesus, Clarke, what happened? Are you okay? Is it the baby? Or your dad? Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the doctor? The hospital?"

His honest, open concern just makes her cry harder, and she collapses against his chest, sobbing and feeling utterly ridiculous about it. Bellamy rubs her back, making soothing noises.

"I really need something to work with here," he says, and Clarke shoves the t-shirt at him. "Uh, something more to work with."

"It doesn't fit."

There's a long pause, and he says, "Oh," delicate, and she laughs through her tears.

"I am having a lot of hormonal issues right now, okay? You don't get to judge me. I'm carrying your child."

"I'm not judging you, I'm relieved. I thought there was a problem with the baby or something." He kisses her hair. "Is that your stupid JCL shirt?"

"It's my _awesome_ JCL shirt," she says, petulant.

"Close enough." He helps her up and kisses her temple. "Come on, it's okay. I bet mine still fits you."

He digs around in his own dresser until he finds his own _Bellamy or Clarke_ shirt and helps her put it on; it hangs pretty weirdly on her, of course, but it does fit. Bellamy gives her a kiss and then a wry smile. "Better?"

"Again, hormones," she says, with a smile tugging through. "Are you going to wear mine?"

"Can I rip off the sleeves so they don't cut off my circulation like last time?"

"I'm not sure, you in a lime green tank top might be too much for me to handle. I'll be overcome with lust."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he teases.

Clarke laughs. "Once we have a kid, I'm not going to be able to become overcome with lust all the time, you know. The kid might walk in on us and be scarred for life."

"Okay, the kid is not going to be capable of wandering around without one of right there for at least two years, probably longer. So we still have plenty of time to be overcome with lust before we have to worry about that."

Clarke giggles into his neck, and he slides his hand up to rub her back again. She melts into him, warm and content and, okay, still pretty hormonal, but at least not _actively crying_. She's taking what she can get right now. "Did you think this would really happen?"

"What, you crying in the middle of the bedroom floor because you couldn't put on an ugly novelty t-shirt? No, I didn't see that one coming. You're always surprising me, Princess."

Clarke laughs and pokes him in the ribs. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Yeah, but I had no idea what you did mean, so I figured I'd just take the chance to make fun of you while you're vulnerable."

"Dick," she says, all fondness. "I meant, you know, _us_. I know you're still all freaked out about your sister marrying the guy she dated in high school--"

"He was her _first boyfriend_ ," he grumbles.

"You were _my_ first boyfriend, dumbass."

"Yeah, but you're not my sister." He smiles anyway. "Honestly, yeah, I used to be kind of bummed that I met you in high school. I figured we'd go off to different colleges and wouldn't make it work, or your mom would convince you that you should break up with me because you needed to expand your horizons or something. I wasn't always sure we'd last."

Clarke laughs. "We did have that discussion at some point."

"Yeah, I figured." He kisses her temple. "Luckily, you're the most stubborn person on the entire planet, so I figure it probably helped me, if anything. Like, maybe you had some doubts, but then your mom told you to think about moving on, and you were like, yeah, I'm going to marry him, screw you."

"Your understanding of my mental processes is terrifyingly accurate."

"Right?" He squeezes her shoulders. "Come on, let's go have breakfast."

He's making eggs because she's at this stage in her pregnancy when she just wants eggs, like, all the time, and they're luckily one of the things he's actually good at cooking, when she says, "I wasn't having doubts."

"Hm?"

"When my mom talked to me, I wasn't having doubts." She smiles down at her shirt, at his name, printed in stark black ink across her chest. It's always made her smile. "I already knew I was going to marry you."

"Always?" he asks, sounding amused.

"Well, this was in college," she says. It hadn't actually been a terrible conversation, or even a particularly harsh one. Bellamy had been doing an internship in Boston, the summer after sophomore year, and Abby had taken the chance to start a pretty mature, adult conversation about how Jake had been her first serious boyfriend too, and how she doesn't regret her choices or her life, but she does sometimes wonder if she shouldn't have tried dating more people, if she spent too long defining herself as part of a relationship, and she was afraid of how she would be outside of it. And Clarke had actually thought about it, not because she thought her mother was right, but because it seemed only fair, when Abby had been reasonable and fair and emphasized how much she liked Bellamy. "I dunno," she says. "I didn't _know_ , I guess. But I knew I wanted to. And I knew if you asked me, I'd say yes."

"And then I took too long, so you asked me yourself," he teases.

"Hey, if you want something done right--"

"Eat your goddamn eggs," he says, putting the plate down in front of her with a grin. "I don't even know why I like you."

"I am having your kid."

"You are having my kid," he grants. "Plus, pregnancy made your boobs even bigger, so at least there's that."

Clarke laughs. "You know what, I take it back. Is it too late to call this thing off?"

"Way too late," says Bellamy, digging into his own breakfast. "You're stuck with me now."

*

They name her Diana Aurora Griffin, because, per Bellamy, her last name is way cooler than his.

"It's a fucking mythological creature, Clarke," he'd told her, when he was twenty-five, and drunk, and talking about having kids for the first time. "All of our kids get to be mythological creatures. It's going to be awesome."

"Please tell me you didn't get together with me for my last name," she said, laughing.

"It was a factor."

They take her home and put them in the crib Raven and Wick made them (with no robotics and very little metal, aside from screws, because Bellamy does not want Skynet to kill his daughter) and then stand in the doorway, watching her with weary awe. This is a person that they _made_. They have a child.

"Did I wish you happy birthday?" she asks finally, slumping against his side.

"You actually did, somewhere in the middle of labor. You were really genuine about it. It was sweet."

"I'm very conscientious."

"You are." He kisses her temple. "I think you're going to have trouble topping _having my baby_ next year. You know, as birthday presents go."

She hums, thoughtful. "Yeah, but have you considered--a book?"

"I can't believe I didn't think of that."

They head into their bedroom, because middle-of-the-night labor is enough to throw off anyone's schedule, and Clarke pulls on Bellamy's _Bellamy or Clarke_ shirt to sleep in.

"I better get that back," he grumbles, tugging her in against his side.

"Married," she says. "Everything that's yours is also mine."

"Oh well," he says. His nose is in her hair, and his hand finds hers under the covers, squeezes. "I guess we can share it, then."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Podfic - A Riddle in Nine Syllables](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12839496) by [bienenalster (pinkspider)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkspider/pseuds/bienenalster)




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